


Dysfunctional Glory

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Drug Addiction, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Injury, Kidnapping, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Murder Mystery, No Incest, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Klaus is good at many things — at showing off impossible surviving skills, at becoming a dedicated junkie by the age of twenty-one, at stealing groceries and running away from cops. At still, still living. He’s bad at dying despite all the injuries he’s been forced to have, both physically and mentally.Death doesn’t like him.





	Dysfunctional Glory

“He’s alive? Oh thank God, we don’t really need a corpse here.”

Klaus chuckles in his sleep; morbid humor is _his_ thing.

“Klaus? Klaus, get up.”

A thud on his shoulder proves the seriousness of the intentions.

“Wake up, bro.”

This voice seems familiar. Klaus opens his eyes when he’s already up on his feet, held by strong hands on his shoulders.

“Diego? Oh, long time, brother dearest!”

His HELLO tattoo always saves the time, but it doesn’t help him bribe Diego.

Reality fades in a haze; Klaus doesn’t quite remember if he actually had _fun_ with anyone on this lumpy mattress last night. But these are the side-effects, he’s been warned. The shelter still has a lot of vacant spots; a hippie guy is snoring, and a goth girl is humming under her breath in the corner. Klaus is about to recognize the melody and sing along, but Diego hauls him outside.

The sunrise is _especially_ beautiful today.

Diego pins Klaus to the wall just to keep him upright; these moves are too violent for his brain. The world won’t stop spinning, but a slight slap against his cheek is rather encouraging, the fog before his eyes dissipates little by little. His black coat is not shielding him from the wind, his tight pants hang too lowly on his hips. This is how Diego used to see him since their teenage years when Klaus had only started experimenting with styles and forms. The bricks behind his back are cold, sending chills down his spine and a tremor to his limbs; this condition feels like home, like a home where he’s never expected for dinner. There’s the hangover settled on the bottom of his brainpan, and oh God, is he even wearing his briefs —

“Klaus?”

“Yeah? Got a little distracted,” Klaus quickly checks his underwear and relaxes. “Need my help for once?”

Mockery intended, but his satisfaction is nowhere to be found as he catches Ben’s doleful glance. There’s a fresh scar crossing Diego’s right temple, thick, wrinkled and barely healed, lacking a protective scab.

“Great,” Klaus rubs his puffy eyes. “What now? You look so… Brutal.”

Diego clutches Klaus’ elbow wordlessly, leading him out of the trash-cluttered alley.

“Where are we going?” Klaus drowns in dismay. “What’s going on? Are you _kidnapping_ me?” another mockery intended, another dart hits an imaginary target.

“She’s missing.”

“Who?”

Klaus brushes off his exhaustion, because it’s _Ben_ who asks this question.

“Who?” Klaus repeats. “Asking for a… Friend.”

Diego drags him like a sack to his car.

“Patch.”

“Patch,” Klaus echoes his words. “Patch is… Who?”

He smokes the joint while Diego is too stressed to change his habits.

“Detective Patch,” Diego says dryly.

Klaus coughs out a cloud, the bolts in his brain loosen up. Diego is edgy, full of nervous energy and tapping his fingers against the car trunk while Klaus tosses the roach into the garbage can.

“That was the last one.”

“That was _my_ last one,” Klaus exhales a white stream that dies in not-so-fresh air. “Let’s go.”

He gets into the passenger seat, nearly hitting his head on the panel, but Diego doesn’t bat an eye.

“Still clumsy.”

“Still vigilante,” Klaus fends off.

“We haven’t seen each other since…”

Ben leans over from the backseat.

“Don’t let him start whining,” he warns. “Tell him that I don’t blame _anyone_ in my death. Well except maybe one monstrous octopus.”

Klaus has got no filter between his thoughts and his mouth.

“Relax, amigo, Benny’s not gonna haunt your leather-clad ass.”

“Are these his words?”

“Loosely based on his,” Klaus buckles himself. “But I’ve resorted to all of my artistry to turn his speech to a masterpiece.”

Diego doesn’t appreciate the joke at all.

 

***

Diego lives in a boiler room in an underground _fight club,_ and Klaus wants to be as invisible as Ben while they wade through the crowd. Diego opens the door, Klaus immediately points at the cross-stitched picture with crossed knives and a domino mask they used to wear as kids.

“Steel keep it?”

“As you see.”

“So fitting.”

Their family reunion is a dark comedy itself: one is deceased, one is a drug-addict, and one more is a knight in a shining armor. But well, not so shiny. Klaus can clearly tell what exactly Diego wants from him. The thing that might be useful for the others, but not for Klaus himself.

“You said you need my help.”

“Eudora, she… She’s been working on a case, and then she just stopped answering my calls, she hasn’t appeared at the police station either,” Diego sucks a breath. “Her partner is useless. All of them are useless, except me and you. And Ben. No offence, Ben, we lose the best of us.”

Ben looks over Klaus’ shoulder.

“It’s fine.”

“He’s cool with that,” Klaus nods.

Diego mirrors his movement.

“C-conjure her,” he stutters out. “It’s gonna work out if she’s stumbling amongst the dead.”

He will probably never learn that Klaus doesn’t control his powers — his powers control him. Ghosts and corpses follow him all around, all mangled and craving to eat his sobering up brain. It’s just a viscous mess in his head, all thoughts and fears jumbled together.

“Klaus, please.”

This is not a regular order, like _“Klaus, do this, do that, and contact my dead — or alive, depends on who is asking — husband”,_ no, this is almost a plea. Which might be sharpened by Diego’s knife.

“Okay, I’m gonna try,” Klaus shakes his hands to get the blood flowing. The bracelets on his wrist are clattering, beads clanking against each other as if the ritual has begun already. But Klaus is still Klaus, as his family says. So of course, he doesn’t see any _Detective Patch_.

“Nothing,” Klaus catches a glimpse of sadness in Diego’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He is not lying.

“You can try again later,” Ben’s always been tolerant to Klaus’ failed attempts to conjure the spirits they needed on their missions. Well, maybe because his own powers were as terrifying as Klaus’ or more.

And then, here’s Diego.

“You’re not sober enough.”

“I’m crystal clean,” Klaus protests, raising his hands up. “I swear.”

“After all of those years? Doubt it,” Diego huffs and takes a flat box from under his creaky bed.

“Is that a…”

“Ouija board,” Ben confirms. “This is your showtime, brother.”

Klaus groans when Diego rips the wrapper.

“I don’t even know how this crap works! Please, I’ve had enough shameful moments in my life, why do we have to fall into absurdity?”

He can’t shove back his hatred, goggling at the brand new oh-so-necessary attribute lying on the floor in front of him.

“So?” Diego waves his hand towards the board. “Try this, don’t be shy.”

“But I’m not even a medium.”

“Sh-h, don’t scare the spirits,” Diego whispers. “I just want to make sure that she’s alive. And so she is, if she doesn’t come, right? She’d do this for me, if she was…”

“Shut up,” Klaus takes a wooden planchette with his HELLO hand not to scare the spirits away, indeed. “We’re trying to focus.”

Ben nods.

Klaus is tired of being compared to ouija board all the time yet he doesn’t miss a chance to joke about this sick similarity, and _one day I’m gonna get these YES and NO tattoos right above my nipples in bold red letters and watch me never getting laid after that._

Klaus is good at many things — at showing off impossible surviving skills, at becoming a dedicated junkie by the age of twenty-one, at stealing groceries and running away from cops. At still, still living. He’s bad at dying despite all the injuries he’s been forced to have, both physically and mentally.

Death doesn’t like him.

The dead don’t like him, or they like him way too much — sometimes he can’t tell the difference. Maybe they don’t like traditional alphabet anymore, maybe they don’t want to contact jeering people, especially Klaus. He sees Diego tense up as he says “I’m conjuring the spirit of this detective — wait, _Eudora? What a lovely name_ — Patch”, and clears his throat in case she appears.

A few attempts later Klaus gives up.

“It’s not working. Ben?”

Ben’s hand swims through the planchette. Zero contact.

“I can’t do this.”

“We can’t do this,” Klaus says. “Ben’s the only spirit who’s hanging out with me.”

Klaus is about to already start throwing excuses, but Diego only clutches a silver handle of the knife.

“I hope it’s because she’s alive.”

 

***

Diego doesn’t let him drink, smoke the weed or smoke at all.

It’s getting boring, because talking never turns into something tangible — making plans that never work is Luther’s prerogative. Klaus wants to leave a boiler room, go away from constant sounds of the thuds in the ring. He’s lying on his back on the floor and staring at the ceiling while Ben seems to be roaming different realms.

Diego scratches his cheek with a dagger.

“I found out some details, and we might get a whole picture soon.”

“What’s wrong with your puzzle, Diego?”

“Nothing. I know who was the last man she’s been in contact with.”

“Fabulous, wait, _what?”_ Klaus clamps his palm over his mouth not to laugh. “Have you been stalking her? I mean, it’s not funny at all, but it’s _you,_ and… Are you… Jealous?”

“I just wanted her to stay safe.”

“My verdict is: you’re so incredibly pissed just because you got expelled from the academy. Poof, am I the oracle yet?”

“Police officers never know when it’s the right time to pull their heads out of their asses.”

Klaus knows that Diego knows at least three methods how to knock out such annoying guy without even giving him a concussion. So he curls into himself, the sounds of punches coming from outside make him feel uneasy.

 

***

“Why can’t the police just arrest that…” Klaus looks at the piece of paper with the name scribbled on it. “Red Garcia?”

“They’ve talked to him already and said he’s clean,” Diego says. “But Beeman gave me his coordinates. He acted like a weirdo though.”

“All of your cop friends are weirdos,” Klaus interjects.

“Just like my brother.”

“Hey, I don’t give away my _clients’_ coordinates to some creepy-ass freaks in leather.”

Their operation lost its meaning four hours ago — Diego had just driven Klaus to a mansion in the outskirts of the city; it looks like Dracula’s coffin with spikes on every bar of a fence.  

Klaus gives up to his melancholy.

“Whoever he is, he’s got a whole house to pawn.”

“Don’t even think about this,” the voice behind Klaus’ shoulder makes him jump up.

“Jesus Christ, Ben!”

“What is he saying, Klaus?”

“He’s just being the lawyer of my conscience as always…” Klaus bites his tongue. “Look!”

Diego slaps the steering wheel with his palm.

“No shit, we’ve got him!”

Their car is hidden behind the lush bushes, but they can still see a man leaving the house; heavy gates open with a low screeching, like the lion’s roar. The man’s wearing a black cape with silver stars scattered all over it, he’s got a cane in his hand — what a bizarre fashionista — Klaus stares at him open-mouthed for a moment, then asking Diego,

“Have you seen that?”

Diego fiddles with a knife in his harness then slowly pulling the car out of their disguise; the man hops in his shiny black Mustang and drives down the street with the speed high enough for Diego’s car to start sneezing.

“That’s illegal!” he moans out.

Ben prompts,

“You can call your… Cop friends?”

Klaus can’t hold back a cackle although Diego’s car is drifting like crazy, and Ben shuts up way too quickly. Can ghosts even get carsick? Ben keeps quiet until the end of their pursue; Klaus is not in the mood for talking as well — he might call it empathy or a curse. They’re diving in the alleys swiftly, cutting off the distance and getting on the Mustang’s tail; Diego knows the city like no one does, so they manage not to lose the trophy they’re trying to catch. And _oh,_ he’s got wonderful plans for tonight. Klaus’ head feels stuffed full of cotton wool, nostrils itchy and hands clammy as they approach the bar. _The bar,_ one of the venues Klaus shouldn’t enter.

There’s a black Mustang parked next to the row of middle-class cars.

“I’m gonna watch him, stay here… Both of you. Keep an eye on him, Ben.”

“Sure thing,” Ben nods.

Klaus twists the things the way he wants.

“Ben said he’s busy. Got too many afterlife books to read. I’m going with you. No, wait, I’m going _alone,_ because being a party animal is my territory, got it? And you... You look like a stripper, you’re gonna scare away our dear Red, don’t you think?”

Diego locks the doors with one click.

“You just wanna buy extasy, I know this look in your eyes.”

“And you just want to stick a knife into somebody’s neck, because it’s the only thing you’re capable of,” Klaus spits out, quickly changing his tone to a honey-soaked one. “Sometimes there are different options, Diego. Stay in a car.”

Sobriety isn’t easy. Klaus feels like he’s about to throw up, or pass out, or both. This is just another test as he rushes towards the neon sign above the door.

“You can do this,” Ben whispers into his ear.

“Thanks, bro.”

How ironic is that the only super-sibling that always supports him is super-dead. Lucky soul.

The place is a chaos of smells and lights. Sweaty bodies rub against each other, and Klaus wants to join them already, but Ben’s stern voice in his head makes him keep going until he can’t anymore. He sits down on the stool and turns to the counter, nearly banging his head against it. Music takes his energy, the withdrawal is about to devour him. Klaus only lets out a faint whimper when he feels a hand on his shoulder, way too cold for this _hot like Hell_ place. As if there are chunks of ice underneath his lace shirt, as black as the circles under his eyes — stolen from Allison, from those not-so-good old times.

“Are you alright, beauty?”

Klaus scoffs and lifts his head up to look into the eyes of a liar who considered his beauty by only his hunched back and his ruffled hair. It takes a while to focus, it takes ten years of his life not to down the glass of scotch looming in front of him. The bartender smiles, doing the stunts with the bottles in his hands.

“On the house.”

“As dramatic as it sounds, but I’m not drinking,” Klaus mutters. “Not anymore.”

Klaus has definitely got some detective skills just like Diego; he’s about to screech like a little fan girl who met her idol. The bartender who’s juggling with the shots and _exhaling fire_ is Red Garcia himself, a man in his forties, with way too much hairspray on his quiff, dark hair lined with thin white patches. He’s definitely a _poser_ loved by his half-drunk audience _._ Red pours the cocktails into the shots blindly, every move seeps with professionalism as if he’s had to reincarnate a hundred times to reach such a level. And such cold hands. And a ghost of a man behind his back — his mustache looks way too optimistically, he can smile only using them.

“Oh, here we go,” Ben utters when the ghost opens his jacket and shows Klaus a gaping hole in his stomach.

Klaus can swear his body’s been slashed in two, and the only thing that’s holding the halves together now is pure magic.

“Damn, no,” Klaus groans into his sleeve pressed to his mouth. “Should’ve warned me,” he throws his head back to swallow a wave of bile creeping up his throat.

“Sorry, I was shocked too.”

Ben sits on the stool next to Klaus, and it’s funny that nobody takes this spot — Ben is not a fan of people sitting down _into_ him, and these crazed dancers are not fans of the guys who are talking to themselves, it seems. The bartender — Red — lets the bottle balance on his forehead then quickly sending it to his hand and beaming at Klaus again. Klaus is not into flirting when he’s about to puke; going cold turkey is his least favorite thing.

And, there’s a disfigured man that gives Klaus a warm smile.

Klaus is double-doomed.

“And I thought having _one_ of you around was bad.”

All the iridescent stars on Red’s black cape come to life as his gaze glides across Klaus’ face. Red licks his lips and writes something down on a tissue then tossing it across the counter. It sticks to Klaus’ GOODBYE palm.

_call me xx_

There’s Red’s phone number below.

Klaus nods and tramples the tissue between his fingers like a cigarette.

Then, he slides off the chair and rushes to the exit, still sober and sick, and there’s that most adequate ghost popping up on the periphery. Klaus misses the exit three times before stumbling outside while Ben keeps chatting with his back.

“That was his victim, I’m sure.”

“Talk to him then,” Klaus wheezes. “I can’t.”

Ben says,

“Me neither. Not allowed to, it seems.”

“Great. Great, great, great, he’s gonna give me nightmares,” Klaus is about to howl, running to Diego’s car. “Hey, brother mine, we’re leaving.”

Diego lets him in and stabs him with a question,

“Did you see Patch’s ghost?”

“No, thank God no, but I’ve got a shit ton of tales to tell,” Klaus breathes out as Diego starts the engine.  

 

***

“I’ve already lost two brothers, that’s enough.”

“Well, Ben’s technically here, so…”

“I said _no,_ Klaus.”

Diego’s fuming while Klaus gets ready for the _date._ He used to straighten up his hair after using Allison’s shampoos and gels; Diego doesn’t have any of those, so Klaus hopes that Red’s gonna enjoy his improvised 80’s disco-style curls.

Ben gives him a thumb up.

“Six more month without haircuts and you’ll be able to braid it.”

“Good point.”

Diego tosses a knife to the wall right next to the mirror.

“What?”

“You can control everything as my favorite _leader_ and sibling. What a good opportunity for you to finally work like an undercover agent. With me, most talented one, don’t deny that,” Klaus is not impressed by Diego’s throw. “If I could only escape into stardom just like Allison…”

Another dagger wobbles before getting stuck in the wall.

“I don’t see an undercover _agent_ here,” Diego sighs. “Only one undercover junkie.”

“So is this a yes?”

“You’re not gonna get paid for this, you know.”

“What?” Klaus nearly drops the eyeliner. _“You_ asked me for help, and I’m _trying_ to help, what’s wrong with you, Diego?”

Diego thinks twice before throwing the third knife.

“What’s your motive?”

“I already called _him.”_

 

***

This is where Klaus’ mission begins.

He really likes to call himself a _solo ex-superhero,_ but Ben is like a chunk of lead chained to his wrist. And so he tries his best to act and smile naturally at the driver despite the two phantoms behind his back. Ben remains silent while the gutted out man stains the upholstery with his ghostly blood.

“I hope you’re enjoying the ride,” Red coos. Way too politely.

Klaus is about to ask him to take a rabbit out of his hat, but there’s none. Sadly. Klaus just needs something to distract himself from shaking and sweating.

“Handsome,” Red compliments. “You don’t even see yourself the way I do.”

“Lucky you then.”

There are no ghosts within eyeshot as they approach the mansion; Diego said he is going to _come and burn this damn place down if you’re not stepping over my threshold by midnight._ But Klaus is stepping over another threshold now — he’s not fond of mansions. He expects to see the butler for an element of a cliche, but the hall is empty. Klaus almost feels bad for Pogo who’s cursed to live with that sick bastard Sir Reginald; but Pogo has evolved into a human form unlike his Master.

Despite its gloomy facade, this household looks like a circus inside, like a safe haven for a middle-aged magician who’s got no one to share a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape with. There are too many vintage things that are priceless; Klaus would’ve pawned every inch if he’d stayed here for more than a week. He’s mesmerized by fancy paintings in bulky wooden frames, golden-plated cups and silver spoons inside of the glass cupboards. The floors are checkered, black and white, making the corridors longer, turning this house to a maze. Klaus wouldn’t have found a way out of here if he’d dropped acid.  

“Don’t even think about it, Klaus. Keep your head clean.”

“Fuck telepathy, Ben.”

Ben clicks his tongue.

“No cussing.”

There are probably cameras in every corner, because Klaus is suddenly alone in the room, with no ghosts hobbling around. Loneliness emerges out of the blue — Klaus doesn’t need anyone or anything when he’s high or drunk, but otherwise he needs Ben. Desperately.

“Betrayer.”

Klaus shivers and tugs at his sleeves; he’s queasy, not seeking for getting laid tonight. Withdrawals tend to cut off his sexual activity. He turns around and bumps into Red holding a black top hat in his hands.

“How did you?..” Klaus gasps dramatically. “Huh, nevermind. Is there a rabbit?”

Red’s smug grin makes his skin crawl like a bunch of spiders.

“No, dear. This is just a show I want you to participate in.”

He keeps wiggling his fingers as if they’re made of rubber. Klaus shoves his hand into the hat, too afraid he won’t feel the bottom.

But there _is_ the bottom.

He forgets about the role he has to play when he pulls out one item after another; a red dress with open shoulders, a wig with long, gingerly-brown hair, a palette of dark eyeshadow and a cherry lipstick.

“You’ve got a good taste,” Klaus blurts out, frantically scanning the room for weapons in case he needs to save his dignity. “Want me to assist you to put these on?”

He needs to find a phone and call Diego. Now.

Red’s mimic is as plastic as the flowers that replace the hat in his palms. One move, and the bouquet turns to a puff of glitter — Klaus definitely has to watch Red’s sleeves.

“Take it,” Red nods at the dress.

“Que?”

Klaus would have really used Ben’s advice now. And well, Red doesn’t like long conversations.

“Take it, _boy,”_ he murmurs. “You can use the bathroom. Come here.”

They go upstairs, down thin hallways tied together like threads; this pulls Klaus in a kind of trance, but then his palm squeezes a shiny handle. Maybe, it’s golden.

Maybe this is the best bathroom he’s ever entered.

“Suit yourself,” Red says. “I’m not watching.”

The bathtub is way too white, Klaus doesn’t want to violate it. He’s been joking about the rabbits under the magician’s hat until he turned to one of them; this circus is a _fun house,_ a mausoleum made of marble _._

“I’m going nuts,” Klaus states, taking a razor. “Well, there’s nothing new about that.”

He greets his dark thoughts as he shaves off his unkempt stubble in front of the mirror, he doesn’t want to disappoint that psycho.

“Klaus!”

The blade cuts his cheek, blood washes the foam away.

“You frigging ninja, Ben!”

He doesn’t care that he’s screaming; his voice drips with anxiety just like his heartbeat. Ben is sweating, talking is a struggle for him. Klaus didn’t know that an ephemeral substance could be _this_ frazzled.

“She’s alive.”

“Who?”

“The girl you’ve been searching for, come on, we don’t have much time,” Ben pants out. “Red Garcia can tell you the truth.”

Klaus splashes his face with water.

“He’s gonna get charmed by my beauty, right?”

The dress and a makeup form just a poor coverage. Klaus is still wearing his own Converse sneakers, he’s got no time to shave his legs and his armpits, and —

He hopes Red’s not going  to check that.

“He’s waiting,” Ben leans against the wall. For a second Klaus thinks he’s corporeal.  

“I don’t want him to think that I’m a hooker. Or at least that I’m a cheap one.”

“Don’t let him _treat_ you like a hooker,” Ben sighs tiredly. “You know how to make him talk. Or you don’t?”

“You doubt my acting skills, Ben? How dare you,” Klaus pretends he is utterly heartbroken. “I can even copy pretty much eve-r-ry ac-cent,” he emphasizes. “See? That was Russian.”

“Not all the Russians speak like this.”

“Whatever-r.”

“Just stick to your natural one, Klaus.”

“I don’t know which one is my natural one, I used to learn and adopt too quickly,” Klaus spreads the eyeshadow all over his eyelids. “Ghosts might be so educating.”

He takes a few bobby pins out of the glass jar to clip the wig to his curls. Although this dress is pretty comfortable, it still smells like a stale perfume.

“Be careful,” Ben warns him before disappearing again.

This place definitely has an anti-ghost lighting-conductor.

Klaus looks at his reflection one more time and says,

“I need a hit.”

 

***

Things get even weirder when he leaves the bathroom. This lipstick is too sticky, and Red is not even offering a dinner as he meets Klaus in the corridor; Klaus can only hope that he hasn’t been listening to his one-sided conversations. It’s time to put another mask on.

“Oh my God,” Red sways and gets a hold onto the armchair. “You look like _her.”_

This is such a freakshow, but Red is sobbing, hugging Klaus and whispering into his ear,

_“Mi amor_ Gloria, my wife, my assistant, my universe,” Red kisses the back of his hand. “You’ll be a perfect assistant… Since she’s gone.”

Red palms Klaus’ torso.

“Perfecta, _perfecta._ A little flat-chested, but that’s okay.”

“Hey, hands off!” Klaus growls.

“What’s wrong, _Gloria?_ I didn’t kill you, that was just an accident, a little secret between you and me, right?” he pulls a necklace out of his pocket, a golden globe on a thin chain. “The audience doesn’t remember anything.”

The globe sways in front of Klaus’ nose.

_“You_ don’t remember anything.”

“I’m not that easy to get zombified, _sir.”_

Klaus lashes out, but his hand remains trapped in Red’s grip; his bracelets with beads, laces and various amulets ride up, baring the umbrella tattoo on his wrist. Klaus feels stark naked; this is the only mark on his body he’s ashamed of. Red’s facial features distort with bewilderment as he twists Klaus’ hand until it clicks slightly.

“You’re one of those superheroes, you’re special, _extraordinary_ — I remember that book!”

“Surprise-surprise,” Klaus grits his teeth in pain. “Actually, I’m mostly an ex…”

Red doesn’t let him quote all the incorrect lines of Vanya’s bestseller.

“You’re one of those kids from The Umbrella Academy,” Red’s spit lands onto Klaus’ face. “How could I not notice?! A snarky boy, pupils dilated, talking to the furniture way too frequently… It’s you! Klaus, Number Four, _The Séance!”_ his eyes glow deliriously. “Conjure her,” he demands. “Presto! Or you’re never leaving this mansion!”

“It’s not that I was going to,” Klaus shrugs.

He needs to inform Diego about all the shit that is happening and find Eudora, but his eyelids get heavy, he’s covered with a sheen of cold sweat. The globe keeps swinging on the chain like a pendulum; Klaus’ limbs are about to turn to jelly when he hears a snap next to his ear.

“Wake up!”

It’s good that he’s the only one attached to Ben’s voice.

One jump is enough to snatch the necklace out of Red’s hand.

One jump is enough to start a fight that ends embarrassingly quickly.  

Klaus can’t conjure Gloria, he can’t be Gloria, he can only gasp and wheeze as Red’s suffocating him.

“My sis would’ve teached you a lesson,” Klaus battles the urge to black out. “She’s a queen of rumors.”

He knees Red in the groin and runs down the haunted hallway; Red reminds him of his father, it sickens him. Klaus eventually stops to get his air back before leaping downstairs. _“You’re not going anywhere!”_ is mixed with _“Klaus, watch out!”_ He doesn’t see the fist landing a strike right between his shoulder blades, he’s floating in obscurity before crashing down. He hits his head on the stair, making his brain jiggle and turn off like a broken flashlight.

Maybe Ben is gonna get a partner in the afterlife.

 

***

The pain in Klaus’ body is a reminder of that iconic moment from his childhood when he tried to wear Grace’s high heels for the first time and fell down the stairs so ungracefully he broke his jaw. He couldn’t eat solid food for two months straight; he couldn’t speak, and that was probably a blessing for his siblings. His jaw isn’t broken at the moment, but his left shoulder is full of spikes as if that damn _magician_ got his voodoo doll and tortures it endlessly.

“Hey? Hey, Klaus?”

Klaus asks himself where Ben goes when he’s unconscious.

“...do you hear me?”

There’s one more voice.

Klaus tries to sit up, regretting it instantly — the pieces of his brain got misplaced, and his right hand is chained to the water pipe snaking up the wall. He’s in the basement with the girl staring at him from the opposite corner. There is a bruise above her split eyebrow, sprinkled with a dull light.

“You’re awake!” she whisper-shouts.

Klaus touches his bloodied temple.

“Seems so.”

His mouth is too dry, his vision is too blurry to be sure. The girl’s wrist is chained to another set of pipes.

“I’m Detective Patch, and that was my…”

Klaus lets out a loud sigh of relief.

“Detective Patch, I mean… Eudora? Oh, nice to meet you. I was trying to… Save you.”

“Don’t want to disappoint you, but you haven’t succeeded.”

Klaus’ dress doesn’t cover his scraped knees, his scalp is all itchy under the wig; there are goosebumps on his skin, and the sight of the _ghost_ in front of him is rather demotivating.

“Who are you?” Klaus leans forward. “Do you speak English? Or German? You can also go with Spanish like that lunatic Red, but I kinda suck at it…”

The ghost adjusts his mustache.

“My name is Lucifer Clark.”

“How can I use it?” Klaus is irritated. So is Eudora, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Red Garcia aka the Murder Magician is an impostor, well-known for his spectacular illusions with the saw; it brought him to the top and then pushed him to the bottom. I was hosting the show when he sawed his wife Gloria in two, and…” Lucifer opens his coat, demonstrating his bowels to Klaus again. “One victim wasn’t enough. This lovely young lady was working on solving my murder mystery.”

“Lucifer Clark, murder mystery,” Klaus nods obediently. Once the story is told, the ghost evaporates. “Wait! Hey, hey? Lucifer? Ah, you are gone now. Rest in peace and rock-and-roll then.”

Eudora straightens up her back.

“Are you stoned?”

“God, why is everyone asking me this? No, I’m not stoned, this is just my eccentric personality,” Klaus rolls his eyes. “Now please, _please,_ let’s get out of here, my ass is freezing.”

“If I could only find something to unlock this,” Eudora shakes her cuffed wrist.

“Oh well, I got bobby pins in my hair,” Klaus shakes his aching head. “Don’t ask me why,” he tosses the wig aside and pulls a small silver bobby pin out of his messy curls. “Here.”

He’s forced to hurt his injured shoulder even more while outstretching his arm to give a pin to Eudora.

“Excellent!”

She opens the cuff in seconds, then rushing to Klaus to free him as well.

“What’s your name?” Eudora asks, dusting off her pants.

“Klaus, but that bastard who took us hostages calls me Gloria,” Klaus gets up, holding his screwed up arm by the elbow. “Dang, do you know how to set the joint back onto its place? I’m sure Diego once told me…”

Eudora clings to his lament.

“No way, you know Diego, and you’re _Klaus?_ Hargreeves?”

“Am I _this_ famous?” Klaus gives her a pathetic smile.

“Diego’s been talking about you a lot,” Eudora says, palpating his shoulder. “Nice make up.”

“I can teach you... Once we’re free.”

“Deal, Hargreeves.”

She’s just distracting him with a conversation then harsly jerking at his arm and pushing the joint back where it’s supposed to be. Klaus doubles over, nearly tearing up; but the bone isn’t broken, and his high pain tolerance level is a savior.  

Eudora flees to the stairs.

“Hey, _Patch?”_ Klaus calls her. “Diego’s been talking a lot about you too.”

“That’s his style.”

Klaus wonders if she’s gonna call Diego just a _Hargreeves_ after all.

 

***

“I’m gonna get high when it’s all over,” Klaus says out loud. “High on a decent amount of sleep and balanced food of course,” he corrects himself. “All legal, don’t arrest me.”

Patch works on opening the basement door’s lock while Klaus and Ben are just hovering around.

“If you told me the truth about Lucifer Clark’s death, I’m gonna provide the most comfortable cell for you.”

The lock gives up, the shadows waltz across the hallway.

“You know, my brother is a colossal wimp,” Klaus says. “Not Diego. And not the two who are gone, no. Luther, our Number One. He’s been such a cry-baby that Reggie had to send him to the Moon, can you believe?”

Eudora interrupts his rumbling.

“Do you hear it?”

There’s the slight whirring, gradually getting louder and closer to the corner where they stand.

“Is that a…”

Eudora finishes for Klaus,

“...a chainsaw.”    

Red might be having a radar tuned to them; Klaus sees his dark silhouette with the cape wavering behind his back as soon as he blinks. Weapons, they need weapons to stop the Murder Magician; they run past the cupboards and wooden shelves, grabbing everything they can find on their way and tossing it at him. Klaus’ shoulder screams with pain when he hurls a heavy silver plate right at Red’s head, but he dodges, and his chainsaw ignites the fire as its teeth dig into the metal. Klaus can’t aim properly, Eudora covers his back every so often; he’s getting violent muscle cramps, his fingers go slack.      

“Are you left-handed?” she asks.

“Oh. Well. Yeah. Mainly,” he rasps out.     

Every new hallway bursts out with colors, on the walls, on the floor, and on the chainsaw — there’s a clown’s nose drawn on the side of it, and Red keeps wailing like a madman he is.

“I’d never hurt you, Gloria! You’re gonna assist me!”

“Assist to my ass,” Eudora grouches, dropping a fake Venus statue to block the hallway. “Go, go, go!”

It seems like Ben is the only one who knows where the exit is, navigating Klaus with his occasional “left” and “right” until they finally make it to the front door. Klaus is dizzy, ramming his good shoulder into the doorframe and busting his knuckles as the glass part of the door breaks; he’s fumbling with the lock for too long, Red keeps chasing them with his killer chainsaw. When the door is finally opened, both Klaus and Eudora fall out of the mansion onto the front porch lit with the headlights of the police cars.

Eudora whoops, Klaus raises his good hand, both surrendering and greeting the officers. He only turns his head when Red’s chainsaw suddenly falls silent. There’s the dagger in the chain, Red looks like a kid who’s lost his favorite toy.

“Gracias,” Klaus exhales.

Diego nods at him.

“See? I came to rescue you, Patch,” Diego adjusts his leather gloves before squeezing her in his embrace.

Eudora squirms in his hug.

“That was my operation, Hargreeves.”

Oh well, Klaus was right.

The officers are cuffing Red’s wrists and shoving him into the police car; Klaus sits down onto the curb while Diego and Eudora are having a heated discussion a few feet away. There are medics hustling all around, asking them if they’ve been sexually assaulted. The knot in Klaus’ chest unties itself when he sees Eudora shaking her head. A young officer throws a blanket over Klaus’ shaking shoulders; he wants to peel this dress off along with his skin.

“Hey,” Diego rubs his back once he’s done with arguing. “Wanna talk about it? You’ve done a good job.”

He doesn’t say a word about Klaus’ clothes.

Klaus looks up at the starry sky; it’s something past midnight, apparently.

“Red Garcia sawed his wife in two, and then the host of the show. He wanted _me_ to be his new assistant, and Patch was just way too curious,” Klaus says. “That case was worth the reunion of The Umbrella Academy, but you know, we’ve got some issues with being a team. So Ben and I, of course, took the lead. Luther would’ve been so pissed at how good we worked out without him.”

“I’d pay to look at that,” Diego agrees.

“Oh really? Nevermind. That Murder Magician could hypnotize people using a piece of jewelry. It was almost like rumoring, but like, putting in more of a show.”

“Got it. He can use this thing during the interrogation. I need to warn Beeman,” Diego’s up to his feet in a millisecond.

Klaus grins at him.

“I don’t think he’s that powerful lacking his golden babe,” he pulls up his dress and thrusts his good hand into his tight briefs. Diego turns away as if his life depends on it. “This,” Klaus wiggles his forefinger, letting a glittering globe dangle in the air on a thin chain.

“You did it,” Diego doesn’t sound like he doesn’t believe Klaus after all. “You literally _robbed_ him, but it’s an evidence, you know?”

Klaus shrugs.

“They can’t use it after I touched it, right? Well, this devilish thing is mine now. Who knows, maybe it’ll help me keep the ghosts at bay. Ah, no,” he gives it to Diego. “Destroy it. I’ve got better methods.”

And he smiles again, ignoring Ben’s judging glance.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this look](https://media.hotpress.com/uploads/2018/10/24114712/IMG_0854.jpg) and [this TUA comic](https://scans-daily.dreamwidth.org/8258293.html)  
> i was just wondering what would've happened if i were a showrunner  
> \---  
> red garcia is a murder magician anagram, but there are still some letters left  
> \---  
>  can i please think that klaus is left-handed since it’s not confirmed otherwise yet thank you


End file.
